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violence, preferably with a proven track record.
    ‘Shut it!’ Glazed eyes turned in the general direction of the voice. As they attempted to focus on the speaker, one or two mutters continued. ‘I said, shut it.’ The half-light made it difficult to focus. The fact that they were stoned didn’t help.
    ‘We all know there’s too many Immigrunts on the Westlea.’
    A growl of anger emphasized their agreement.
    ‘Now we’ve chance to get shut of them.’
    ‘How we gunna do that, Dan? There’s hundreds of ’em.’
    ‘Shut up and listen. Then you’ll find out, won’t you? Here’s the job. We make life so fucking miserable for them they’ll be queuing up to get the first bus out.’
    ‘How, Dan?’
    ‘Never mind how. Are you up for it?’
    ‘Too right.’
    ‘The best bit is , there’s others think like us. We’ll even get re-fucking-warded.’
    ‘What you mean?’
    ‘We’re going to get free gear. Good shit too. All we’ve to do is earn it.’
    ‘What! By getting shut of the Immigrunts?’
    ‘You got it.’
    ‘I’d do it for nowt.’
    ‘I’m in if there’s free stuff.’
    ‘Me too.’
    ‘And me.’
    ‘I’m in.’ A dozen voices chimed their agreement.
    ‘When’s this going down?’
    ‘We wait for a sign. Billy’s going to torch a gippovan. We start after that.’
     

Chapter five
     
    Billy waited patiently. He was ready. As soon as the caravan was in darkness and quiet, that was his cue.
    His hold on reality had always been precarious. A good psychiatrist might have saved him. But Billy had never been treated. That wasn’t the way things happened. No one realized how close he was to being psychotic; the thin dividing line between normality and a psychopath. It needed only a small push to send Billy over the edge. Setting the caravan fire took Billy to the brink. As he lay in the hedge-back watching it burn, watching the gas bottles exploding high into the night sky, he teetered on that edge.
    Then, as he masturbated towards a climax, the caravan door burst open. For a second Billy froze, unable to comprehend what he was watching. A burning ball fell to the ground and rolled over, before coming to rest in a pyre of smoke and flame. As recognition came, Billy knew beyond doubt that what he’d watched had been a human being. Now a human torch that burned even brighter than the blazing caravan beyond.
    As Billy lay spent and gasping, his mind plunged into an abyss of darkness. There could be no return. The last vestige of his sanity was destroyed in that instant, gutted as completely as the caravan.
     
    Nash’s sleep was disturbed by the wailing of sirens. He stirred, but as their clamour faded, he dropped back to sleep.
    Later, his mobile rang. ‘Nash,’ he growled.
    ‘Mike, it’s Clara. I’m on Netherdale Road. There’s been a caravan fire; completely gutted. I’m with Doug Curran. He reckons it’s arson.’ Clara’s voice quivered with distress. ‘There’s at least one dead. We found a body outside the van; burned to a crisp, completely unrecognizable. There may be more inside, but we can’t get near. Mike, the bloody thing’s just melted.’
    ‘I’ll be as fast as I can. Whereabouts exactly?’
     
    Nash wondered how a crowd of onlookers could have gathered at such an early hour. Did they lie awake, waiting for the sound of sirens?
    He ducked under the incident tape and paused for a brief word with Sergeant Binns.
    ‘Clara’s over there, with Curran.’
    Binns pointed towards the first of three fire engines. ‘She’s pretty shaken.’ Binns paused. ‘She’s not the only one.’
    Nash had to pass the caravan to get to Clara. The van was a hot, smoking shell of twisted metal and melted fibreglass, testimony to the ferocity of the blaze. Alongside it a dark tarpaulin sheet covered a shapeless bundle he knew would be a body. His nose wrinkled in revulsion as he recognized the sickly, cloying smell of burnt flesh.
    He nodded to his sergeant and the chief fire officer.